


Sing it in a Round

by stereomer



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereomer/pseuds/stereomer





	Sing it in a Round

The door slides open with a jolt, and right away Mikey can just tell that whoever pulled the handle is drunk. He raises his head and squints blearily at the exposed wall of the van, where there’s a buttery glow from streetlamps pooling inside and framing someone’s body in shadow. 

“Who’s it,” Mikey asks in a muzzy voice. They’d removed the middle seat and stuffed it into the trailer in order to have more floor space, and he’s finding that waking up is a lot harder to do when he’s actually lying down. Ray is the only other person in the van, sleeping beside Mikey with his glasses still on and askew, so that leaves Matt, Gerard, and – 

“Frank,” Frank says as he braces one hand against the passenger side headrest and pushes himself up into the van. There’s a squeaking noise as his palm slips – “oh, shit” – and then a thump as he straightens up reflexively and hits his head on the ceiling – “fuck.” He stumbles, giggling, missing Ray but stepping on Mikey’s knee.

“Jesus,” Mikey hisses as a mushroom cloud of pain suddenly blooms in his leg. Frank’s foot tries to find balance around the curved surface of bone, but then Mikey shakes him off and he finally falls onto the back seat, still giggling in that breathless way he has, like he’s run out of voice and all that’s left is air in his lungs. 

“You fucking – ” Mikey pulls his knee up and massages it by digging his fingers into his skin, even though the pain has already receded to a dull wash. Through some miracle, Ray continues to sleep.

“Calm down, you pussy,” Frank says. His voice sounds lower than usual but the volume is still the same. Mikey leans up on one elbow and almost makes a ‘shh’ing gesture with his index finger, but thinks better of it and jerks his thumb over his shoulder instead.

“Shut the fuck up, Ray’s sleeping.”

Frank rolls off the seat in a rather graceless gesture, but the motion is smooth and he lands neatly at Mikey’s side, with their shoulders lined up together. “Shut the fuck up, Ray’s sleeping,” he mimics right to Mikey’s face. His skin looks wan in the artificial light, but he’s grinning hard, red-rimmed eyes crinkling up when Mikey pushes at his shoulder and forces him down onto his back.

“God, you have like, a gift,” Mikey mutters while struggling not to smile, “for annoying people and managing not to get killed while doing so.” He leans over Frank and presses the heel of his palm further into Frank’s shoulder to keep him still. Abruptly, Frank stops resisting and just peers up at Mikey instead. 

“Yo, your hair is a fucking mess. And ow,” he adds, rubbing at the ball joint of his shoulder. He ends up half-rubbing at Mikey’s hand too, before Mikey lifts it away and uses it to pull the sleeping bag he’s using as a blanket up near his chin. 

“People say I’m scrappy,” Mikey informs him, lying back down and eyeing him sideways. Frank’s face is out of focus again, but Mikey can identify the wheezy laugh and the wide spread of teeth. 

“Yeah. Scrappy Mikey Way, sure.” Frank wriggles his feet under the edge of the sleeping bag, and then shifts onto his side so that it covers the rest of him. 

“Dude.” Mikey shoves at Frank’s feet with his own. “Close the door.”

“Oh, just leave it open. It feels nice. Like we’re camping.”

“Yeah. In a parking lot.” Mikey watches Frank, who has his eyes closed in a serene expression. “Okay, don’t blame me when you wake up tomorrow and realize you’ve been teabagged by some complete stranger,” he says, mostly just because. He knows Gerard and Matt will return pretty soon in a whirl of heavy footsteps and constant snickering laughter that’ll wake everyone up again. 

Frank snorts. He rubs his head against the floor of the van and Mikey does the same, both trying to find a comfortable angle that’s bearable for sleep. All pillows had been lost by the third week of touring and their necks have been suffering the consequences ever since. Despite that, Mikey actually manages to drift off to sleep while focusing foggily on the puffs of air against his neck every time Frank exhales. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he finds himself blinking awake again when the echoes of Matt’s voice find their way into his ears. He and Gerard almost sound like they’re lost at sea, just because of the cold air and the way Mikey can only hear snatches of words and single syllables of laughter. He’s lying on his side with Frank pressed up right behind him, and - Frank is fucking spooning him, one hand resting lightly on Mikey’s hip, fingers tucked downward as if prepared to pull at something. Ray’s on his side too, and Mikey could well be spooning him if not for the distinct strip of van floor cutting between them like a jagged canal.

The urge to laugh bubbles in his chest, but then at the same time, he just wants to lie here without moving, with Frank’s knees pushing into the backs of his legs and feeling the weight of Frank’s wrist on the island of his hipbone. Frank is hot against Mikey’s back; he’s solid and alive, and Mikey is suddenly hyperaware of it. The tickling feeling of laughter is almost gone now, fading away as Matt and Gerard’s voices get louder and louder until they're right outside the van. 

“Wake up, fools,” Gerard crows, curling his hands around the open edge of the door and sticking his head in. He slaps at each of their feet when no one moves. “Come on! Driving time. Ray or Mikey, let’s go.”

Ray’s voice emerges. “I hate so much about you right now.”

Mikey is startled to feel Frank giggle, because he hadn't so much as twitched at Gerard and Matt's arrival. Mikey had thought he was still asleep. 

“Suck it up, Ray, you and Mikey drew the short straws,” Frank says, sounding so much closer than everyone else. Mikey’s head feels full, but he’s not really thinking anything. He’s wondering how the back of his neck looks, weirdly enough, but that’s about it. 

“Oh, I’m up, I’m up. Shit.” Ray throws off his sleeping bag and climbs into the driver’s seat by hooking one leg over the cupholders and the armrests and swinging the other around, narrowly missing Gerard’s head with a high-flying ankle.

“Mikey Wa-ay,” Frank sings mindlessly. He rolls further in, letting his hand slip down until Mikey can feel the flat part of Frank’s forearm pressed steady against his stomach. 

Gerard sings it too: “Mikey Wa-ay,” and then Matt joins in as he steps over the mess of limbs and plops onto the back seat. Ray jumps in last. Their voices clash together, but they all have the same lilting drawl over the last name. 

“What the hell,” Mikey finally says, even though he doesn’t even feel a flicker of confusion or bewilderment. Just another stupid game, like the time Matt had initiated a contest to see who could hum the longest. 

“Mikey Wa-ay,” Gerard sings again, then adds, “is the little spoo-oon.”

“Oh jeez.” Mikey tries to roll away during the ensuing laughter, but Frank clamps on tight. Mikey only succeeds in ending up on his belly, having dragged Frank halfway on top of him. He decides to forfeit this round rather than continue to struggle in vain, and lets himself go limp. Now that he’s still, Frank’s weight actually feels comforting, like a really heavy blanket that molds against Mikey’s shape and occasionally moves.

“I got you, man,” Frank murmurs against Mikey’s spine. Mikey elbows him gently in response.

He hears Gerard ramble, “You’re so fucking touchy, Frank. Like a koala.” Frank’s chin is hooked over Mikey’s shoulder; Mikey turns his head toward him and asks, “Are koalas really touchy?’

“I don’t fucking know,” Frank laughs. His features are sharp from this close a distance, the clear curve of his nose and the jutting spikes of eyelashes standing out against the murky background. For one moment, Mikey actually appreciates being nearsighted and fucking blind as all hell, and then Frank disappears from view as he slides off just enough to rest his head on the floor again.

Matt’s snoring already, as Ray guides the van out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The constant forward motion washes over Mikey. He lets his eyelids droop when they want to and it’s almost as satisfying as sleep, but his neck is beginning to cramp up again.

“Here,” Mikey says, more to himself than anything. He reaches out to grab one of Gerard’s discarded hoodies that’s stuffed halfway under the driver’s seat, feeling the resistance of Frank’s arm when he has to stretch to get it. It makes him fumble for a second before he manages to pull the hoodie to him by its sleeve. He bunches it up and shoves it under both their heads before settling back into his original position. 

“Scrappy Mikey Way,” Frank mumbles thickly. 

“Also a great scavenger,” Mikey replies without turning. Frank’s grip around him tightens and then relaxes again. Mikey falls asleep for the third time that night to the rumble of tires and Frank’s forehead pressed to the back of his neck, their bodies overlapping like waves.


End file.
